


Yellow Heart Emoji

by HelloAfternoon



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Arguing, Bodyswap, Explicit Language, Harm to Animals, Injury, Insecurity, M/M, Magical Accidents, Oral Sex, Personality Swap, Pigs, Reckless Driving, Rough Kissing, Self-Doubt, Theft, Wade Wilson Breaking the Fourth Wall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-03 01:19:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8690923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloAfternoon/pseuds/HelloAfternoon
Summary: This had begun by accident at the zoo. Things exploded. People evacuated. Animals trumpeted and roared and bleated. Somewhere, Loki had giggled spectacularly. Deadpool had thrown someone into the ape enclosure. Peter had been thrown into the ape enclosure.





	

“Why did it have to be you? I mean, it could have been anyone, but it was _you!_ ”

“I’m not exactly creamin’ my pants over this predicament either, Spidey, but you could at least try to phrase that a _little_ less insulting,” Deadpool replies, crossing his arms. Er, Peter’s arms. Are they his arms because he’s controlling them, or Peter’s arms because they’re still attached to Peter’s body?

Peter wishes this was all some elaborate dream cooked up by his bored subconscious, but alas, it is quite real.

He also wishes that Deadpool had washed his suit-literally ever, at all-because it smells like dirty dishwater and the strange sludge found at the bottom of garbage cans all over the world. A strangely universal scent, but not one Peter prefers to suffer if he doesn't have to. He’s not exactly Mr. Clean himself, but he manages not to stink like roadkill, which is a step in the right direction.

Deadpool’s body also comes with other disadvantages. Such as a constant, almost debilitating pain.

Peter can tough it out-he’s strong, he’s done his fair share of pain tolerance through his life-but it’s so all encompassing and constant that it fuzzes his thoughts at the edges and makes it hard for him to focus, every sensation a slight and persistent agony.

There’s also the problem of strength. For as modest and wiry as Peter is, he’s quite physically strong. Proportional strength of a Spider, and all. But Wade has just slightly more strength than the average man, depending on the writer, which means it leaves Peter feeling strangely...powerless.

He did not think that this is what it would be like to be Deadpool. He’d imagined more prancing, bloodied unicorns frolicking across his vision. Mostly it’s just pain and confusion and frustrating weakness.

Deadpool, however, seems to be having a perfectly good time in Peter’s body, which he is currently using to attach himself to a blade of the ceiling fan in Peter’s bedroom by his sticky little fingers, dropping down to hang from it like an orangutan.

And then consequently ripping it from the ceiling with his weight and crashing to the ground with a shriek.

“Hey, quit trashing my stuff! God, is this what it smells like in your mask all the time?” Peter wails, pacing around his small bedroom with unusually big, loud feet.

They’re holed up in Peter's apartment for the time being. He doesn't trust Deadpool to carry on as Spiderman, and would rather not get hassled for being Deadpool, considering that Deadpool usually has an enormous, murderous entourage nipping at his heels at all hours of the day.

“Like sunshine and daisies, sugar pea!” Deadpool replies guilelessly. It’s strange for Peter to watch his own body move like Deadpool moves, strange to see himself OUT of himself.

Granted, body swaps aren’t uncommon.

Well, they _are_ uncommon, but Peter has been in the game long enough and tangled with enough people with weird powers to get swapped at least once. It’s small potatoes compared to being transformed into a pig; or it WOULD be, if he had been swapped with anyone BUT Deadpool.

This particular incident happens to be Avengers related, so Peter supposes that he’s really the one to blame, being a reserve S.H.I.E.L.D agent and all. This is really over his head and out of his hands, though. He and Deadpool just have to wait it out until the grownups are done spanking Thor’s misbehaving brother for whatever nefarious nonsense he’s gotten up to most recently. Peter is thankful to be mostly spared the burdens of Asgardian filial affairs, as they sometimes involve bodily transformations and frost giants, neither of which is a fate to be suffered lightly, or _at all_ if one can prevent it.

Peter is fairly certain that he and Deadpool are just Loki-tantrum collateral damage, but it’s hard to say. Spider-Man has been a thorn in Loki’s side before, maybe he just figured that if he couldn’t get Thor, he’d at least make SOMEONE miserable. Or maybe it’s part of some master plan.

Both sound equally likely, but Peter is rooting for the former on the grounds that he’s not in the mood to get his-er, Deadpool’s?-ass kicked inside out today by any angry Asgardians. He will not be foiling any master plans today.

“What’s the deal, Spidey? We just gonna sit here and let some other-world chump treat us like this, or are we gonna turn around and un-alive that stanky ass Tom Hiddleson wannabe so hard that Thor feels it?” Deadpool looks away from Peter and puts his hand by his mouth for a conspiratorial whisper. “Not to say anyone would WANNA be that guy. He looks like his skull is constantly trying to escape from his head.”

“Stop talking about murder with my voice!” Peter accuses, pointing a finger at Deadpool, who is lying on the floor under the ceiling fan, clad in the Spidey suit and fortunately quite calm. If there is one thing this situation does not need, it’s an agitated mercenary.

“Oh, quit whining!” Deadpool replies. “I’m confused! You’re confused! Look, even the kids at home are confused! We could stand for a little flashback right now, couldn't we? Soothe our nerves? Tickle our jimmies? Give us somethin’ to think about while all this blows over?”

Right. This had begun by accident at a zoo, as some things sometimes do. Several streams crossed; Deadpool was there to kill someone, Loki was there to be apprehended by the Avengers, and Peter was there to look at the gorillas.

Things exploded. People evacuated. Animals trumpeted and roared and bleated. Somewhere, Loki had giggled spectacularly.

Deadpool had thrown someone into the ape enclosure.

Peter had been thrown into the ape enclosure.

And then, in a whirlwind of chaos, they’d been swapped. At first it was disorienting, like someone had clocked Peter upside the head with a hammer, releasing a sensation into his brain not unlike a fancy butler had squeezed a lemon into it, shook it, and served it eager party-goers in a set of ornate champagne flutes.

And then he had been Deadpool, opening his eyes just in time to make a lot of confused eye contact with himself of all people, standing in the ape enclosure, surrounded by apes and a puff of nasty green smoke which Deadpool would later claim smelled like cherry vodka.

“Why couldn’t I have been swapped with-I dunno, Captain America? A civilian, even!” Peter grouses, sitting down on his bed, arms limp, head hung in defeat. God, his whole body hurts too much. It hurts to move, it hurts to touch, everything burns the instant it makes contact with him. He wants to rip all of his skin off.

“Well, because that may have actually been _cool_ , and our combined terrible luck wouldn't tolerate us getting to firmly grope Captain America’s fat,” Deapdool sighs, “American,” he purrs, “ _ass._ ” Then he makes a gripping motion with his hands and swift little “honk” noise with his mouth, as if squeezing two very firm, perky bike horns at once.

“Stop that, stop doing that, I swear, I’ll throw you out the window,” Peter accuses, pointing at Deadpool.

“You’ll throw YOURSELF out the window, you mean.” Deadpool singsongs back, and Peter watches the lenses on his mask narrow smugly, and-god, does he look like that all the time? No wonder every animal themed freak-of-the-week in Queens wants to punch him in the nose.

Not to mention, Deadpool lends a peculiar cadence to Peter’s voice. It’s a little jarring, something like vertigo combined with an off-color uncanny valley thing when combined with his appearance. For all intents and purposes, he IS Spider-Man; he looks and sounds like Spider-Man, and he certainly talks more than enough to pass for the wall crawler if anyone cared enough to test him on it.

But there’s an attitude about Deadpool’s movements that looks weird on Peter's body. His energy changes from loping and dangerous to explosively high strung in strange waves, and the way he holds himself is entirely more wound down than Peter normally is. Peter can’t help being high strung-he’s just the nervous, quick talking sort, as some people who spent great portions of their lives with only words as a defence can be-but Deadpool uses his body like he really is a huge man trapped in a much smaller man’s body. And, well, that's exactly what he is, so it makes sense.

Peter gets the benefit of being slightly taller than normal. Hurray.

“Ugh, how do you deal with this all the time?” Peter finally grits out, scratching helplessly at his arms, which-Ow, okay, makes things worse.

“Deal with what?” Deadpool replies, distracted by playing with the fabric of the Spidey-suit, pulling it away from his thigh and then letting it snap back into place. He looks at Peter. “Oh, you mean the pain! You get used to it. It’s like a friend, when you get to know it. Always there. Never lets you down. An excellent listener, in my opinion, but you don’t know it like _I_ do,” he replies easily, and then pushes Peter’s ceiling fan off of his chest and sits up.

“Ugh, I can’t do this, it feels like…” Peter shivers and lies back, overwhelmed, curling up on the bed. “It feels like there are roaches under my skin eating me alive!”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Deadpool shrugs, offering a small, comforting pat to Peter's back. “Sometimes it gets worse and sores start to open, but I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head over that. I didn’t get hurt too badly, except for when I punched that donkey at the children’s petting zoo-”

“Why! Why would you do that!” Peter exclaims, turning back around to glare at Deadpool.

“-and that broke my hand, but it’s probably already better and so my body is probably doing fine. Or, as well as it ever does,” Deadpool continues, talking right over Peter. “Er, well, the Donkey was asking for it. He was,” Deadpool pauses and gives Peter a slimy grin under the mask, “kind of an ass.”

Peter groans. “I can’t believe you broke your hand punching an animal in the face in front of children.”

“In my defense, the animal was Loki-voodooed all to hell, so who knows if it was even alive,” Deadpool shrugs, bouncing Peter’s scrawny shoulders. Peter wonders if he always looks like a creepy marionette, or just when Deadpool is controlling his body. “Kind of a lot happened very fast. I don’t handle that too well. Tend to go off script, y’know? Fuck things up for the big boys. That’s why they don’t like me. Well, that and I k-word people all the damn time, but who can blame me!” he giggles, and then goes hard around the edges. “It’s so much _fun._ ”

Peter sighs. “I can’t believe I let you into my apartment.”

“Yeah, now I know where you live. Big mistake, bucko. Well, I could have found you anyway, but I try not to be an asshole about that, alright?” Deadpool says, standing up and pacing around Peter’s room, plaster dust still descending in little clouds from where the ceiling fan once was. “I won’t even climb your balcony one night, serenading you with my dulcet tones and setting your loins aflame. Cross my heart!”

“You couldn't set my loins aflame with a match and lighter fluid, pool boy.”

Deadpool swivels aggressively and points one of Peter’s scrawny fingers...at Peter. “That’s Pool- _Man_ to you. I’ll have you know that my age is indeterminate, but I am estimated to be in my thirties, and a blonde. Maybe. I prefer brunette, but it’s not like it matters for shit anyway, since I’m as bald as Jason Statham these days.”

Peter closes his eyes for a moment before he feels Deadpool leap onto his bed, flopping full bodied onto it and bouncing the mattress. He sighs. He looks at Deadpool. Deadpool’s chin is propped up on his interlocked hands.

“You know what just occurred to me?” he says pleasantly.

“What?” Peter replies.

Deadpool smiles murderously. Peter can just feel it. “At some point we’re gonna have to touch each other’s dicks. The call of nature, buddy.”

“No,” Peter says quietly, a look of terrible, dawning horror washing over his expression. “ _No._ ”

Peter shakes his head quickly. He just-he hadn’t thought about-

“I can hold my own dick, if you want. Aim it for you and everything. I’m pretty good, I can hit a Cheerio at 4 feet,” Deadpool says, as if that is supposed to be at all helpful or comforting, or as if he has practiced urinating on Cheerios a great deal. “I know how to treat her right, anyway. I can teach you how to handle her.” He makes a gear-shift gesture over his crotch. “She rides _real smooth,_ ” he purrs.

“No!”

“You could hold yours if you want! I won’t peek!”

Peter pushes Deadpool off the bed with a thump and Deadpool cackles. “It’s up to you, Spidey! I won’t judge! We can both go at once, if you want! I’ve never tried watersports, but if it’s as fun as it sounds, we could give it a shot!”

“How long is this going to last?” Peter wails desperately at his ceiling.

“You could ask Thor,” Deadpool croons, peeking up over the edge of the bed from his position on the floor. “Pester him about it, let all the Avengers know you swapped bodies with _moi,_ of all people.”

“I would rather be _dead,_ ” Peter says flatly, “than show my face at S.H.I.E.L.D HQ looking like this. They might actually mistake me for you and shoot on sight.”

“Not like it’d kill you, not in my body. Don't be such a wuss, webs, it sets a bad example for the kids at home! Didn’t know you were such a prideful creature. Shame,” Deadpool says, tutting and wagging a finger in Peter’s direction..

“It’s not PRIDE, it’s not wanting to be laughed out of the S.H.I.E.L.D reserves!” Peter insists. “This kind of thing always happens to me! I’m never gonna be a proper Avenger if I keep getting-I dunno, zapped and body swapped and punched by half-animal weirdos on the street!”

“They still aren’t taking you seriously? Harsh, dude.”

“I know! Like, I’m pushing 25, I’m not the same Spider-Man who almost bit the big one fighting the Rhino! Am I not popular enough? Not charismatic enough? Like, sorry I don’t exactly have that Captain America ‘elderly white man from the 50’s’ swagger, but I do alright!”

“Aw, I think you’re a real Avenger, Spidey!” Deadpool coos, entirely too saccharine.

Peter huffs a frustrated little noise out of his mouth. “Thanks, but unfortunately they don’t take your opinion on pretty much anything.”

“I’ve always thought that was one of the bigger flaws of the organization as a whole, yeah,” Deadpool replies, nodding sagely.

Peter just sighs, again.

“We could just wait it out,” Deadpool suggests. “Until either one of us is possessed by the insuperable need to choke the chicken or drain the lizard or, god forbid, take a shit.”

“Yeah, just-for now, let’s wait,” Peter breathes, trying to control his own escalating panic. “If it turns out we’re stuck, I’ll contact...God, that’s gonna go over so well,” Peter says, and picks up an imaginary phone, miming a phone call. “Hello, director Fury? Yeah, this is Spider-Man. Think you could twist Loki’s arm and put me back in my body before I have to touch Deadpool’s _little-Deadpool_? Thanks, patches, you’re the best!”

“He’d probably be sympathetic to your plight,” Deadpool muses. “I don’t think Nick Fury has ever wanted to touch my bologna pony, either. He might just take pity on you.”

“He’d kick me out of S.H.I.E.L.D for naughty language and fraternizing with a mercenary,” Peter grouses, dragging his hands down his face. Deadpool’s large hands cover more of his face than he’d expected. The meatiness of his new body has not yet failed to surprise him.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, at least you aren’t alone,” Deadpool says. His sarcasm is unnecessary and unappreciated. Peter expresses this by groaning loudly and leaning away from him as he leers openly from the edge of the bed. “Stuck in the middle with you!” Deadpool sings.

“Ugh,” Peter grunts. His thoughts are fuzzy and his brain hurts and his skin, God, all of it hurts really bad. He loos back at Deadpool, who peers up at him over the side of the bed, squatting on the floor.

“You want lunch?” Peter asks after a moment of consideration, reaching a point of dull resignation to his current circumstances.

“Mmm,” Deadpool says, the lenses on the Spidey-suit narrowing menacingly at Peter. “ _Lunch._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> whoa whoa whoa whats all this then !


End file.
